


“I will hold you close to my heart, which is as hot as flame.”

by mmnesdt7



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: :), I'm Sorry, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PostWar, bull... just wants to Hold, hmm. gay, martin is oblivious for a little while but it’s ok we love him anyway, which is good because Martin wants to be Held
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:12:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmnesdt7/pseuds/mmnesdt7
Summary: The war is over, and Martin’s glad to be home. Still, though, he feels like he’s missing something. Maybe visiting an old friend with help with that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carentans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carentans/gifts), [Shy_Creature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shy_Creature/gifts), [gabriel_deserved_better](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriel_deserved_better/gifts).



The end of the war hits Martin hard.

Moving back home is good, as is getting to see his family. But still, something feels off, and he has no idea what it is, until that feeling turns to a dull ache when Martin’s mother makes some joke about soldiers and letters that’s just a little too familiar. Martin turns around from washing the dishes, ready to remind Bull of Guarnere’s story from England about Babe and Darling Doris, but Bull’s not there.

This is Ohio, after all, not some dank bar in Aldbourne, and Martin shakes off the feeling as best he can, but the problem is that the feeling doesn’t go away. He keeps turning to look for Bull, be it in the early morning or helping out at home or at dinner with his parents. And every time he does, that hollow feeling in the pit of his chest gets a little stronger, the hole a little bigger.

“Hey, Ma?” Martin calls to the open air.

“What is it, John?” his mother asks kindly.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been at home for a while now, and I kinda want to go see one of my old war buddies. Take some vacation time,” he says awkwardly, and his mother beams.

“Oh, that’d be wonderful. You’ve been cooped up in this house too long, I think,” she says, and he smiles weakly.

That night, he dreams of Bull. His smile fills Martin’s world, and Martin spends hours coaxing even half of a laugh out of the man, and every time he does it’s like heaven itself has opened to show him a glimpse. When he wakes, the empty feeling in his chest feels like it’s rubbed his heart raw.

Martin’s at the grocery store when he hears a voice that sounds all too like his Arkansas friend and he can’t take it anymore. His bag is packed within the hour and his train ticket punched within the next.

 

Bull’s house is big and comfortable, and Martin’s terrified to even knock. He stands in front of the door, suitcase by his foot, and gathers his thoughts. He’s about psyched himself out of it when he finally taps the knocker, and he flinches down to his core when he hears Bull’s rich Arkansas accent call out “Coming!” He’s going to tell Bull he came here to visit, just to see how he’s doing, tell him about his family, and head home. That’s it.

Then the door opens and Martin freezes. Bull’s face looks softer in the light of the countryside sunset, and the deep worry lines of war are faded from his face. He looks good in civilian clothes, and seeing the soft expression of surprise on his face breaks Martin like nothing else.

“Hey, Bull, I- god, I’m sorry for turning up unannounced. I don’t want to be a bother, but hell, Bull...” Martin says, almost desperately, cursing himself for every wrong word coming out of his mouth and all the things he can’t think to say.

Bull’s mouth opens to say something, but Martin cuts him off. “Every damn time my Ma tells a joke or I see something funny I turn around to tell you. Just about every night I have a dream about the war, and you’re always there. When I go to the damn grocery store I hear something that sounds half like your voice and I keep expecting to see you! No matter where I go, I’ll see you or hear you in something- God, Bull. I don’t think I even remember how to live without you there.”

Bull stands there silently for a moment,  and Martin waits, not breathing, for Bull to do something. He’ll probably kick him out, or laugh, or make fun of him, or anything along those lines.

But instead, Bull sighs, his expression softening. He reaches up and cups Martin’s face gently, and only as he wipes Martin’s cheek with his thumb does Martin realize he’s been crying.

“Bull, I-“ Martin tries, standing on Bull’s doorstep feeling like the worst thing in the world. “What the hell did you _do_ to me?”

Bull laughs softly, and smiles so gently.

“Johnny,” he says, his voice full of fondness, and Martin feels like he’s been punched.

“Wh-?” Martin begins, and that’s all he gets out as Bull gathers him into his chest. Martin’s eyes fly open as he panics, unsure of what the hell’s happening, but Bull’s arms are strong and warm and for the first time in months that empty feeling is gone. Martin doesn’t know where to even begin with this, and he’s not even sure what “this” is. Martin realizes that Bull smells like lye soap and cigars and he radiates heat, and that’s also when he realizes everything else.

“O-oh,” he manages.

“Lord above did I miss you, Johnny Martin,” Bull says, gathering him in just that little bit tighter, and Martin breaks completely. Every tear he wouldn’t let fall during the war rushes out as Bull holds him.

“Bull- I- I didn’t know-“ he chokes through the tears. Bull begins to sway slowly, like a mother calming her child.

“Shh, it’s ok,” Bull says, kissing the top of Martin’s head gently. “It’s ok.”

Martin can feel the rumbling of Bull’s words down to his core, and he slumps into Bull’s chest, his tears staining the big man’s shirt. He’s so tired he barely notices as Bull sweeps him off his feet and carries him over to the sofa.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Martin wakes sometime later, curled up in Bull’s lap with Bull’s hand in his hair.

“Bull?” he asks, and Bull shifts gently.

“Hey, Johnny.”

Martin rubs his eyes blearily and looks up at Bull, who’s smiling gently with the fondest look in his eyes Martin’s ever seen. Martin looks down, realizing where he’s sitting and attempts to stutter out an apology, only to have Bull wave it away.

“I don’t mind. It’s good to have you here,” he says, and Martin feels the hole in his chest start to fill.

 

Martin helps Bull cook dinner, peeling shrimp for shrimp & grits and feeling more at home here in Bull’s kitchen than he ever did  in his own childhood bedroom. He talks about returning home, and his family, and time at war. He lets his mouth run and recite what he told himself he’d tell Bull while  he works, his mind elsewhere.

He’s in the middle of telling Bull about the letter he got from Guarnere not too long ago when he turns around to see Bull looking at him with that same fond expression.

His words stop in their tracks and they stand there, looking at each other in the warm light of early summer. Martin steps closer, confused and feeling strangely light, and Bull closes the gap between them and kisses him softly, his hand barely touching Martin’s jaw. A shiver shoots up Martin’s spine, and he presses into the kiss unthinkingly.

His mind is going a mile a minute, his father’s voice in the back of his head asking ‘what the hell he thinks he’s doing’ and ‘how dare he’ but that all disappears as Bull rests a hand on Martin’s waist, pulling him closer. The kiss is gentle, just like Bull’s always been, and something in Martin twists. They break the kiss together, and Martin knows deep down he should step back, pretend like it didn’t happen or just take his bag and leave, but he ignores that thought that rose in the voice of his father and presses forward again.

This time, they take their time. Bull tastes like cigars and the calluses on his hands are rough in a way that seems almost familiar on his jaw, and Martin feels like he’s finally come home after years at war.

Dinner is had in a silence that is comfortable instead of stifling, and Martin settles as the tension he didn’t know he had is finally released. Bull and Martin clean dishes shoulder to shoulder, and later that eventing they sit on the porch and Martin can finally breathe. In that dwindling twilight, Martin smiles for the first time in a while as the fireflies rise, warm against Bull’s side.

“We oughta be gettin’ to bed,” Bull says after a while, and Martin nods sleepily.

“You got a room made up for me?” Martin asks, and Bull gives him a look he can’t quite decipher.

“I do, but only if you want to take it,” Bull says, turning to smile out at the horizon.

It takes Martin a moment to process the meaning in Bull’s words, and then he has to fight to keep from blushing.

“Oh. Well, uh... maybe I won’t take it tonight. If you don’t mind, of course?” Martin asks awkwardly, and Bull laughs.

“‘Course not. C’mon, let’s get back inside.”

 

Bull steps out of the bathroom and smiles, seeing Martin sprawled out in Bull’s oversized bathrobe on the bed. Martin’s a little nervous, and seeing Bull wander around the room shirtless isn’t exactly helping. Martin slides under the covers, doing his damndest to keep to his side of the bed. He lays there staring at the ceiling for a moment, and when he looks over to ask Bull something, there that fond expression is again.

“Bull?” he asks, and the big man smiles.

“C’mere,” Bull says, and pulls Martin in close.“This ok?” he asks, and Martin struggles to find the words he wants.

“I... yeah, Bull. Yeah, it’s ok,” he says, and when Bull laughs Martin gives in entirely. He curls in along Bull’s side, and hums contentedly when Bull wraps an arm around his chest.

“Sleep well, Johnny.”

“You too, Bull.”


	3. Chapter 3

Martin wakes up feeling like he’s died and gone to heaven. He’s warmer than he’s been in what feels like years, and his dreams haven’t been about Bastogne or D-Day or that miserable day in Holland when Bull went missing and he thought he’d never see him again for, well, weeks now. They’ve drifted through a daily routine of trips to the grocery store and housework and cooking with a kind of domesticity Martin loves a lot more than he expected.

Every day has been comfortable, and he hasn’t felt that hollow feeling in so long he barely remembers it. Bull is warm beside him, the soft rumble of his snores almost lulling Martin back to sleep, and it’s good. Martin rolls over and presses his face into the space above Bull’s shoulder, smiling as the big man starts to wake up. Bull hums and rolls onto his back, dragging Martin on top of him, and Martin blushes down to his chest.

“Mornin, Johnny,” Bull says sleepily, ruffling a hand through Martin’s hair.

“Morning, Bull,” Martin says.

Bull smiles at him and kisses his head, his hand tracing circles on Martin’s back.

“Mighty fine way to wake a man up,” Bull jokes, and Martin tucks his reddened face into Bull’s shoulder. “We oughta get up, though.”

“Do we have to?” Martin grumbles, embarrassed but loath to leave the warmth of the bed.

Bull laughs, a low, gentle bass, and Martin can’t help but think of how good a sound it is.

And then Bull’s kissing him again, just like he always does, soft and sweet as ever. Martin can’t help but bring a hand to Bull’s face, his fingers scraping on Bull’s rough stubble. Martin is caught up in the peaceful bliss of it, in the safety of knowing that there’s no one for miles around who could bust in and ask them what the hell they’re doing, not even his father. _Especially_ not his father. The kiss breaks slowly, leaving Martin and Bull to grin hopelessly at each other in the warm light of dawn.

“Goddamn you taste terrible,” Martin says, his smile broad.

“Alright, alright, I’m gettin’ up,” Bull grumbles lightly, pushing himself upright. “Can’t get nowhere with you layin’ on me though.”

Martin laughs and shifts off of Bull, comfortable in the bed as Bull freshens up in the bathroom. Martin reflects on just how quickly he settled in, and he realizes something. He’s always been this comfortable around Bull, that nothing’s changed but how open they are with each other. It feels like he’s always known Bull, always been there, always had him by his side, always loved him.

Shit.

“Never did get that guest bed made up,” Bull says around his toothbrush, “Although I can’t imagine you’d want it now, huh.”

Martin laughs, but it sounds distant.

“You alright there?” Bull asks, as observant as ever.

“Well, Bull...” Martin starts to try and explain, trailing off.

Bull raises an eyebrow and Martin looks at him with an expression Bull’s never seen before.

“Bull, I, uh. I think I’m in love with you.”

Bull’s eyes widen in surprise, and Martin watches his face soften into that same warm  expression he had when Martin first arrived, that same expression he gets before every kiss.

“You do, huh? Well, I think I’m in love with you, Johnny Martin.”

Martin feels about ready to cry. Or to scream, or to break down, or to do any number of things. His thoughts are moving faster than he can process them and all he can see is Bull, standing there in his boxers and worn bathrobe still holding his toothbrush.

“God, I love you,” he says instead, and Bull smiles bigger and broader and softer than he’s ever seen.

“Took you a little while,” Bull observes.

“Well, yeah, that can happen to a man. Ain’t every day you fall in love with your best friend,” Martin says, trying to seem unconcerned.

“It is for me,” Bull says, his voice firm but gentle.

“Bull?”

“Every day I take a look at you and fall in love again a little harder.”

“I- Bull-“

“You’re beautiful, Johnny. Gotta be one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. I’ve been wanting to tell you that, but couldn’t find the right time. I figure now’s as good a time as any.”

“ _Bull_.”

“I mean it. You’re beautiful, and I know it may be some kind of illegal, but seeing somethin’ like you tells me that a man lovin’ a man can’t ever be wrong. I love you, Johnny.”

Bull steps forward and pulls Martin to him, holding him close. Martin gives up and lets the tears fall, giving in as he wraps his hands around the collar of Bull’s bathrobe.

“I love you, Bull, good god how I love you. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize before, I-“

Bull shushes him gently, cupping his face in his hands. “Don’t you apologize for nothing, sweetheart. It’s ok.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey, Johnny Martin! Didn’t expect you to be here,” Guarnere says, leaning on his crutch and looking as upbeat as ever on their doorstep.

 “Hey, Bill,” Martin says, and gestures for him to come in.

 Bull meets them in the living room, and they settle in to swap stories. Bull and Martin fill him in on the rest of the war, and Guarnere has a lot to say about the home front.

 “You still got that girlfriend of yours?” Bull asks, and Guarnere laughs.

 “Oh, Frannie? O’course, she’s the greatest woman I’ve ever met. Wouldn’t give her up for the world.”

 Martin smiles at the way Guarnere’s face lights up to talk about her. He’s found himself someone that’ll love him for who he is, and nobody can ask for better than that.

 “What about you, Bull? You find yourself a girl yet?” Guarnere says earnestly, and Martin suddenly wishes he could be anywhere but here. He shifts to be closer to Bull on the sofa, pressing himself into Bull’s side as inconspicuously as possible.

 “No, I haven’t, Bill. Haven’t needed to,” Bull says, and rests a comforting arm around Martin’s back.

 “Haven’t needed to, huh?” Guarnere says, and his comment gets cut short when he sees just how close Bull and Martin are sitting, and where Bull’s arm is wrapped around.

 Martin tenses as the uncomfortable moment of silence stretches on, and then Guarnere finally laughs.

 “Well damn, haven’t needed to is right. Can’t say I saw it coming but I feel like I should have, huh?”

 “I’m surprised half the company didn’t see me pining,” Bull says, beaming at Martin, and Martin blushes.

 “I’m not surprised I didn’t. I was pretty oblivious,” Martin laughs awkwardly.

 “Sweetheart, you had a hundred other things goin’ on. Don’t you worry yourself about it,” Bull says, his voice low and comforting. Martin leans into his side, letting his contact with Bull soothe him.

 Guarnere laughs again, his eyes filled with mirth and a sort of brotherly fondness. “You two are halfway to married already and the war ain’t even been over two years.”

 

 “Y’know, it ain’t something I would’a seen coming. George and Joe Toye, though, I saw that one a long way off,” Guarnere says later, savoring a smoke on the back porch.

 Martin stops washing up, turning to look at Guarnere in shock.

 “What d’you mean, George and Joe?” Bull asks, taking his cigar out of his mouth.

 “What, you didn’t notice? They’ve been together since, hell, Toccoa at least,” Guarnere says, and laughs his trademark laugh. “I thought they were obvious but that might’a been me.”

 “Is there anyone else?” Martin asks, curious and a little apprehensive.

 “Well, there was Heffron and the Doc, although they weren’t near as careful as George and Joe. Had to deal with Heffron pining for weeks, poor kid,” Guarnere says, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette.

 “Yeah, I remember them. Had to give the kid advice,” Bull laughs.

 “What?” Martin asks, and both Bull and Guarnere laugh.

 “What, you didn’t see them? Damn, you really were oblivious,” Guarnere says, and Martin shakes his head at them.

 “I saw Winters and Nixon coming, though. I didn’t think too high of it at the time, but I saw it,” Martin says, trying to shake excess suds off his arms.

 This time it’s Bull and Guarnere’s turn to stop and gape.

 “What d’ya mean, Winters and Nixon?” Guarnere asks incredulously.

 “I walked by their office once, and there they were. Didn’t notice me through how caught up in each other they were, though. You woulda thought they were high school sweethearts or something by how lovey-dovey it all was.”

 “Winters and Nixon,” Bull says to himself with a laugh. “Who would’a guessed.”

 “Anybody with half a brain who was willing to look,” Martin chirps, and smiles as Bull rolls his eyes.

 “Damn, you two really are like an old married couple,” Guarnere says, “and you can’t say a damn word about ‘caught up in each other.’ I mean hell, take a look at yourselves!”

 Martin blushes hard and ducks his head, smiling sideways at Bull.

 “It really is a damn wonder I didn’t notice anything,” Guarnere laughs around his cigarette.

 “We weren’t together then,” Martin says a little sheepishly.

 “Ya weren’t? When did all this happen then?”

 “He turned up on my doorstep a little over a month ago like a lost puppy in the rain,” Bull explains, ignoring Martin’s expression of indignation.

 “What, really? Johnny Martin, the greatest hardass I’ve ever known, turning up on your doorstep? I find that hard to believe.” Guarnere says, and Martin sighs.

 “No, I did. I wouldn’t say ‘lost puppy in the rain,’ but I was in rough shape.”

 “Started cryin’ when I hugged him,” Bull says, almost to himself.

 Guarnere looks over at him with a shocked expression, and Martin nods sadly.

 “I wasn’t doing well, and, uh, I didn’t expect it either.”

 Guarnere’s expression changes to one of concern, and he nods. “You doin’ alright now?”

 “As long as Bull lets me stay I will be,” Martin laughs, and Bull smiles broadly.

 “I wouldn’t kick you out for nothin’.”

 Guarnere smiles and shakes his head, putting his cigarette out on the porch railing.

 “You two were made for each other, you know that?”

 

 Guarnere stays for a few days before heading on to visit Roe and Babe down in Louisiana.

 “Let’s hope the mosquitoes don’t kill me, huh? I’m already missing a leg, I don’t need my blood sucked out too,” he says at the train station, and Martin smiles. 

 “Tell then where I am so my parents don’t get swamped with mail,” Martin asks, and Guarnere assures them that he will.

 Bull and Martin stand on the platform together as the train departs, Martin taking a moment to lean into Bull’s side. They walk home in companionable silence, and as soon as they reach the long dirt road Martin interlaces his fingers with Bull’s and basks in the big man’s smile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> bold of you to assume I would post a fic not named after russian folk music. this one is from the ending lines of Lovely Moonlit Night  
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VgkGBWgolAQ


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